


Nip

by yeaka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Ears, Animal Traits, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 04:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Either having ears and a tail to match his idol’s dog is the best thing that ever happened to Yuuri, or actually watching that idol skate is.





	Nip

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri on Ice or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The day Yuuri turned eighteen was the happiest of his life, not because it meant he was _finally_ an adult, but because when his ears and tail came in—as they always do with adulthood—they were those of a curly brown poodle. He’d instantly rushed to one of the posters on his wall, where his gorgeous idol posed alongside a large dog—a dog with features just like Yuuri then had. Yuuri’s sister and a few of his friends had snickered at him for blubbering over it, but he was so happy he cried. 

The second best day of his life was when he got tickets to the Grand Prix, but now he thinks this might quickly become the first. Having a tangible connection to _the_ Victor Nikiforov is one thing, but being _right there_ , sitting in the sidelines, close enough to almost hear the imperceptible scratch of Victor’s blades against the ice, is _everything_. He can breathe in the same crisp air as Victor and watch, not through a screen but in _real life_ , the gorgeous, breathtaking grace that is the world’s greatest skater, dancing in the most beautiful freestyle round that Yuuri’s ever seen. When Victor moves, the whole audience around him—dogs, cats, rabbits, everyone, even chipmunks that otherwise never shut up—holds their collective breath. Yuuri’s hands are balled into fists against his thighs, tears nearly bubbling into his vision.

Victor’s awe-inspiring. He’s worth every medal and trophy and accolade he’s ever won. In a tight-fitting black suit with glittering silver highlights, he weaves about the entire rink, leaping in elegant jumps and landing always in perfect form, spinning back in unexpected loops and always _living_ the music. His silver wolf ears twitch with every beat, his thick tail streaming out behind him, matching the long, silken hair that’s pulled back into a ponytail. Yuuri would give almost anything to run his fingers through it. But this is good too. This is _amazing_. He feels honoured to even be in the stands.

And then Victor finishes, grinding into a dramatic pose, where the spotlights shine about him and light him up like an angel. The crowd bursts into applause, and Yuuri joins them, leaping to his feet, clapping so hard that his palms start to hurt. Victor bows, smiling serenely at his audience. Flowers pour onto the ice, and as Victor reaches the end, he’s handed a bouquet. A crown of painted blue roses is set about his head, fitting snugly down just beneath his ears, perked high. Sitting in the very front of the crowd by some divine miracle of luck, Yuuri can see it all—the coaches and reporters in the inner circle haven’t quite covered his view yet.

Victor still smiles as his coach comes over to grumble at him, famously difficult, but then Victor’s eyes stray, scanning the crowd, and Yuuri’s heart stops as they fall on him. The smile abruptly slips from Victor’s face, and there’s one horrible and glorious moment where their eyes connect.

Then, all at once, Victor breaks into a grin so wide that it dimples his cheeks. He drops the bouquet, darting forward, pushing past a reporter to reach the box. His hands curl over the edge of it as he leans in, exclaiming to Yuuri, “You look just like Makkachin!”

And before Yuuri can faint because _Victor Nikiforov_ is actually talking to him—at least, he desperately hopes it’s him, and not some bizarrely convenient other poodle sitting right behind him—Victor reaches out and drops his hand into Yuuri’s hair, curling delicate fingers to scratch behind Yuuri’s ear.

Yuuri twitches, leaning into the touch and instantly melting. Victor’s other hand joins the first, petting Yuuri in firm, broad strokes that have Yuuri’s tail wagging far beyond his control. “You’re so cute,” Victor croons delightedly. Even though Yuuri’s cheeks are probably cherry red, he wouldn’t change the moment for the world. Victor’s so close that Yuuri can actually _smell_ his floral and pinewood cologne. Victor’s fingers are the softest thing Yuuri’s ever felt, and they massage him so expertly that he might actually be drooling. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to say or do anything. He just tries desperately to memorize and savour every little touch and absolutely not pass out. 

“Are you a fan of mine, puppy?” Victor asks, even though Yuuri’s a full-grown man now. Yuuri just dazedly nods.

Then he blurts before he can stop himself, “I came all the way from Japan just to see you—y-you’re my idol!”

Victor laughs, hands still all over him, and says, “Great! I hope I get to skate with you soon.” Abruptly, the petting ends, and Victor lunges forward over the divider, wrapping Yuuri in a crushing hug and reaching back to stroke lithe fingers down the length of his tail. Yuuri’s convinced he’s died and gone to heaven.

Except there are no coaches in heaven, and an angry string of Russian is suddenly all over them. Victor begrudgingly pulls back, and he frowns at his coach, who looks about ready to have a fit. Yuuri knows their moment’s over, and it takes everything he has not to just grab onto Victor and ask for more pets and a treat back in Victor’s hotel room.

At least Victor gives him another smile before leaving, waving and shining like the star that Yuuri revolves around. Yuuri gives a weak wave back, and as Victor trails off after his coach, he calls, “See you on the ice, puppy. I’ll pet you more then, okay?”

Yuuri watches Victor go.

And _then_ he faints.


End file.
